


The Spirit of Freedom Affair

by Tish



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Fourth of July, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 20:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7375879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A detour mid-rescue to a small town gives Napoleon and Illya a chance to enjoy a special day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spirit of Freedom Affair

“You're certainly a sight for sore eyes, Illya,” Napoleon looked up at his rescuer in the gloom, adding with a wince, “not to mention sore everywhere else.”

“Sorry for the noise, Napoleon. The rest of the team are cleaning out the THRUSH goon squad.” Illya made quick work of Napoleon's restraints and gently examined his bruised wrists. 

Napoleon stretched out his arms, slowly and painfully. “I was drifting in and out of consciousness down here. Drugged. Lost track of time. What day is it?”

“The fourth,” Illya felt for bruises on Napoleon's body, slowly moving his fingers along his neck and up into his hairline. “Do you feel okay to get up?”

“I've been here over a week? Wait, where is here, anyway?” Napoleon held onto Illya's arm as he helped him up.

“Satrap 735, near Turkey-” .

“They took me to Turkey?” Napoleon exclaimed.

“Turkey, in rural Texas. Very quiet, pretty little place to do very nasty work,” Illya corrected.

 

Napoleon paused in the doorway of the concrete shed, squinting in the sunlight. “Ah, yes, the picturesque dirt farms must be a nice money spinner for THRUSH.”

“Potatoes, I believe. There's a bathroom in the main building,” Illya pointed the way.

“That bad, am I?” Napoleon sighed as he rubbed his eyes.

Illya allowed himself a smile. “Well, not quite _filthy_...”

“Have I ever told you how much I l-” Napoleon trailled off with a smile as a young U.N.C.L.E. agent approached.

 

“Mr. Kuryakin, Mr. Solo, we've bundled all the THRUSH agents aboard the helicopters, but we're fully loaded. Two of us will have to stay behind and wait. The round trip should take a few hours,” agent Jenkins said.

Napoleon waved his hand dismissively. “Illya and I can wait. Say, that car works, right? We can head into the town and grab a bite to eat. There's bound to be a diner.”

Jenkins grinned, “Bound to be 50 barbecues today, Mr. Solo. Happy 4th!” He gave a quick wave and walked back to the waiting helicopters.

Napoleon leaned wearily against a wall. “Holy mackerel, it's July already?”

 

Twenty minutes later, Napoleon opened his eyes from a quick nap. The same reddish brown soil stretched as far as he could see. With one hand on the steering wheel, Illya didn't slow down as he took off his sunglasses and wiped them against his shirt.

“It's a little dusty today,” Illya mused. 

“Hot, too,” Napoleon pulled at his shirt to create a small breeze against his skin.

Illya quickly glanced over, eyes full of concern. “Please let me know if you feel ill, we can find a doctor in the town.”

“Nothing I can't handle,” Napoleon leaned back into his seat and held out his bruised wrists. “Besides, these are a little hard to explain.”

“I could say you were teaching me how to be a cowboy and lasso things,” Illya kept his eyes on the road as Napoleon convulsed with laughter.

“I'll buy you a Stetson, _pardner_ ,” Napoleon smiled as he settled into a nap again.

Illya glanced over at his partner for a few seconds before returning his full attention to the road, a smile playing on his lips.

 

As they got onto the main road, Illya slowed to allow a couple of dogs to walk across their path safely and Napoleon roused himself. The sound of a marching band was coming closer and Illya parked the car. 

Along the street, flags and banners fluttered in the breeze. Red, white, and blue streamers hung from almost every surface and several hundred townspeople waved little flags. Napoleon got out the car and nodded appreciatively in time to the music as the young women displayed their skills with the baton.

Illya slid his sunglasses down slightly and squinted at the large papier-mâché bull that rode on a float behind the marching band.

“Now, you wouldn't see _that_ in Red Square on May Day,” Napoleon pointed out.

“That would be a first, I have to admit,” Illya conceded.

“Or that,” Napoleon added as a huge convertible with four stunning Texan beauties drove slowly by.

“They would be a little out of place, just like I feel here,” Illya murmured as several people began to stare at him.

“They think you need a haircut,” Napoleon flipped a lock of Illya's hair, drawing a chuckle or two from their audience.

A voice came from behind them. “Y'all not from around here, are you, boys?”

Illya sighed and turned to see a Sheriff approaching them. He couldn't believe the man had actually used that line.

Napoleon gave the Sheriff a sincere smile and nodded. “That's right, sir. It's a long story, but we just wish to enjoy the parade, and maybe buy some dinner. There's some wonderful barbecue smells in the air and it's really putting an edge on my appetite.”

 

Sheriff Mullin nodded wearily. “Sure thing, but you parked outside the designated spot. Normally, I'd give you a ticket, but I'll just give you a warning today.”

Illya was a little thrown by the Sheriff's unexpected response and replied, “Oh, I- I'm sorry, I shall move the car at once.”

Mullin frowned, “You really aren't from around here, are you? You a Ruskie? Out of state plates, both covered in dust, and a head of hair like my 8 year old daughter. There's gotta be some story with that.”

Napoleon pressed his fingertips together and stepped closer. “Uh, Sheriff, now I could spin you a ridiculous yarn about my friend being a defector from the Bolshoi Ballet and we got lost out here while driving by your lovely, uh potato fields, but we're agents from the U.N.C.L.E. and we just finished up a case. I'm Napoleon Solo, and this is my friend, Illya Kuryakin.”

The sheriff looked down skeptically at the business card Illya was holding out. “Uh huh. Look gentlemen, the barbecue's about to start, please just enjoy the celebrations. Eat something, don't drink too much and get into any fights.” He began to walk away, but took a step back. “Oh, and good luck with with ballerina thing. Happy 4th!”

As the Sheriff walked away head shaking in disbelief, to join the rest of the townsfolk, Napoleon gave him a cheery wave and a “Happy July 4th!” 

“Napoleon, a defector from the Bolshoi? Really?” Illya groaned.

“Come on, let's eat,” Napoleon grinned, nudging Illya along.

“First sensible thing you've said all day,” Illya replied. 

 

A semi-organized line was forming along a row of tables as piles of freshly cooked meat were set out. Ladles clanged against huge pots of vegetables as smiling mothers scooped out the contents onto plates. Illya stared at the abundance, reluctantly turning his attention to the first table in the line.

“It looks like a donation system,” Illya pulled out his wallet and checked the bills.

“My wallet seems to have gone on vacation somewhere along the way,” Napoleon said apologetically.

“Napoleon, you were missing for a week, I dreaded to think of your fate. Of course I will pay for you,” Illya gently replied.

As they moved to the first table, Illya read the sign announcing all proceeds would go to the poor and needy in the area and immediately replaced the dollar bills he had ready with some larger denomination notes.

The woman handling the donations gasped as he handed her the money. “I don't think we can make change for that, sir!”

Illya folded the money into her palm. “Please, it is fine.”

Napoleon smiled at her. “He's a good egg, this one.”

“I could eat the whole cow, let alone the egg,” Illya intoned as the cook added a new stack of steaks to the table.”

Napoleon patted his back and picked up two plates and some cutlery, keen on having his first good meal in what seemed like an age.

 

Settled on a grassy bank underneath the shade of a tree, Napoleon gazed around at the vibrant colors. The sky was azure, yellow and red roses bloomed, and the flags were crisp and bright. He smiled and closed his eyes for a moment, opening them to see Illya watching him carefully.

“Like I said, you're a sight for sore eyes,” Napoleon watched Illya nod his head and turn back to his food.  


As he gnawed at his steak, Illya watched the people around them. Young girls danced and twirled, their younger friends watching and learning, enraptured. A few young men with crew-cuts and beers looked over in his direction, Illya lip-read their insults and derisive laughter before they turned their attention to some teenage girls. Some of the women looked curiously at them, a far-away look in their eyes, only to be distracted by husbands and children.

 

After a few moments, Illya spoke. “I'm still worried for you, Napoleon.” He glared at Napoleon's plate. “You've smothered mustard all over that steak.”

“It is very good, my friend,” Napoleon replied with a twinkle in his eye.

Illya smiled at the flags. “Yes, it's good. Not perfect, sometimes terrible and tragic, but there's a spirit, a sense of wonder and purpose. I quite like it.”

Napoleon spoke quietly with love and admiration, “Happy 4th, Illya.”

Illya's smile sparkled like fireworks. “Happy 4th of July, Napoleon.”

**Author's Note:**

> This little piece was inspired by saphura's post on tumblr wondering about how Illya, Napoleon, and U.N.C.L.E. deal with the 4th of July celebrations.


End file.
